


Heavenly Flesh

by Tyranno



Series: Deliverance [1]
Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Angel/Demon Relationship, Established Relationship, M/M, damen is an angel and laurent is a demon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-10
Updated: 2018-08-10
Packaged: 2019-06-25 08:50:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15637338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tyranno/pseuds/Tyranno
Summary: “I.. know who you are,” Damen said.“I’m from Hell,” Laurent said, lifting the drink to his mouth and swallowing it all in one long gulp. The insides of his mouth were vicious, blood red and his white teeth were sharp, scratching the glass. When he was finished, smoke rolled back over his teeth and out of his mouth.Damen could almost see the spade-ended tail curling like a tiger’s.





	Heavenly Flesh

**Author's Note:**

> clever ideas are OUT, ideas i stole from every YA novel ever are IN!!

The air in the speak-easy was hazy with cigar smoke. Oil lamps lined the ceiling, dim and blurred like gold coins at the bottom of a deep well. There were so many people in the bar that, despite the bitter cold outside and the lack of internal heating—it was startlingly warm. The place smelled like tar, a thick, acidic taste at the back of Damen’s throat. 

Damen bumped into a young woman, who up-ended the bottle of cider right onto her sparkling square dress. 

“I’m sorry,” Damen said, quickly. 

The woman’s face bent into a snarl and she straightened up to look at him—but the moment she set eyes on him the expression vanished. She smiled, warmly, “It’s fine.” 

Damen nodded politely and excused himself. 

The trouble was, Damen was too large and the place was too crowded. Bodies pressed into each other, huddled around small tables and talking furtively. The patrons could be sure they weren’t overheard only because the people at the surrounding tables were all too wrapped up in their own furtive conversations. 

Damen pushed as politely as he could between two beautiful broads and finally saw who he was looking for. 

The man was huddled against the back of the worst booth in the bar, under the vents. He wore a scuffed black woollen suit with the buttons on the left side almost all missing. He was a classically handsome young man, with bright blue eyes, pale silken gold hair and long, straight nose. Some might consider the beauty ruined by the heavy shadows over his eyes and the red-rimmed sleeplessness. But Damen did not. 

Damen snagged a drink from one of the people at the bar—it only took a look to settle the dispute—and hurried over. 

Laurent looked up when he approached, sharp blue eyes taking in the suit straining across Damen’s shoulders, the reluctantly brushed hair. He smiled. 

Damen set the drink down on the table and pushed it towards him. 

“You should try paying for those,” Laurent said, but accepted the drink anyway, pulling it between his long white hands, “With money. Not salacious glances.” 

“Come on,” Damen sighed, sitting down opposite him, “You know currency doesn’t make sense to me. Whatever happened to bartering?”

“I guess when you can get anything you want from a human with a look, it’s not worth the effort,” Laurent said. 

Damen leaned back in his chair. 

Damen ran his fingers over the seams on his chair and they began to heal, the fabric stitching together. “It’s still strange to me,” he said, “I wonder what my brother would say, if he knew. About us.” 

“You know what he would say,” Laurent said sourly. 

“He might not...” Damen grimaced. “It was a long time since you knew him.” 

“I knew him better than you ever will,” Laurent said, haughtily. 

“That’s not true,” Damen protested. 

“You know it is,” Laurent said, “Or else you don’t know anything about me.” 

“I.. know who you are,” Damen said. 

“I’m from Hell,” Laurent said, lifting the drink to his mouth and swallowing it all in one long gulp. The insides of his mouth were vicious, blood red and his white teeth were sharp, scratching the glass. When he was finished, smoke rolled back over his teeth and out of his mouth. 

Damen could almost see the spade-ended tail curling like a tiger’s. 

Laurent set his empty glass back down on the table, “Was there a point to your visit? Just like everything else with two eyes I find you pleasing to look at but I was actually in the middle of something.” 

Damen hesitated, “It’s your uncle.” 

Laurent’s icy eyes narrowed. 

“He’s moved position,” Damen said, “He’s operating out of Mexico now.” 

“What about the Fort?” Laurent said, “I thought the whole reason he couldn’t leave the North was because the Fort couldn’t be moved that far.” 

“I destroyed the Fort.” 

Laurent started at him. 

Damen looked back. Laurent’s eyes were blown wide. 

“You… destroyed the Fort? The Impregnable Ravenel Fort?”

“I had some help,” Damen said, talking fast. It was a strange urge, to quell the admiration in Laurent’s voice. “And with the weather conditions, correct the lightning and—”

“Be quiet,” Laurent said, raising a hand, “This is the first success we’ve had in fifty years. I won’t have false modesty undermine it.” 

Damen settled back in his chair, sheepishly. 

“It’s a shame,” Laurent said, “I just had these clothes made for me.” 

“They look good on you,” Damen offered. 

Laurent smiled, “Successes should be rewarded, shouldn’t they?” 

“I would think so,” Damen said, measuredly. He looked careful, but expectantly at Laurent. 

“Well… you’re an Angel, aren’t you?” Laurent said, “What do Angels like to do best? More than anything else, more than playing the harp or singing choir or any of that shit?” 

“Smite,” Damen said. 

“I’m a Demon,” Laurent said, looking at him intensely. 

Laurent poured a splash of his own beer into the glass and threw that back like a drowning man. His teeth flashed in the low light. Through the smoke that poured from his throat, he said: 

“Smite me.” 

 

*

 

They made it into the room upstairs, kicking the door shut, before Damen kissed him. Steam curled between them as Damen licked into his burning mouth. Laurent’s fingers curled around Damen’s hips, hot even through the fabric. 

Damen broke apart and stared down at him, dark eyes warm and glossy. 

Laurent grinned, tugging his tie off with a smooth move and picking at his shirt, unbuttoning it as fast as he could. 

Damen shrugged off his jacket and shirt—which he had not even bothered to button—and tore at his trousers until they were damage enough to step out of. It was not quite as bad as money issues, but Damen had not adapted to the clothing since perhaps the Greco-Roman era. 

Damen tugged at Laurent’s shirt, but the demon stilled his hands. 

“You’ll tear it, you animal,” Laurent said, lightly, shedding the last bits of clothing, but he didn’t move Damen’s hands away. 

Laurent kissed him again, pushing back until Damen collapsed on the bed. Laurent rose above him, touch white-hot, like a brand. 

Damen’s honey-coloured skin was not warm, as many people would have suspected. Instead it was pleasantly cool, like summer rain, or finely cut marble. However, unlike Laurent, who would start smouldering the moment he started thinking too hard, Damen’s temperature did not fluctuate easily. 

“Open them,” Laurent said, running his hands between Damen’s back and the sheet, “I want to see your wings.” 

“It’s not safe,” Damen said, “They’re too dangerous.” 

“Only for a moment,” Laurent said. 

Damen relented. 

Wings pushed from his back, growing naturally, like a sprout. White feathers glowed cool and brilliant, like freshly fallen snow. 

Pain prickled in the palms of Laurent’s hands but he didn’t removed them, enchanted by angel wings. They felt almost soft. Steam rolled from between Laurent’s fingers as he touched them. Each fine barb of feather was sharp against his fingertips, like tiny razors. 

Damen closed his hands around Laurent’s wrists and pulled them away. Black blood dripped from pale hands. 

The wings retracted just as easily as they had come. The feathers flattened against the bone and slipped into Damen’s back. The wings left black shadows where they had burned into the fabric of the bed with cold fire. 

“Open yours,” Damen said, “They’re much less dangerous.” 

Laurent relaxed his shoulders and black wings unfolded neatly from his spine. Claws pushed through Laurent’s fingertips and his fangs descended properly. This was more for Laurent’s benefit than Damen—they were ugly wings but Laurent could not really relax without them out. 

Damen reached up and took his chin gently and Laurent relented, allowing him to open his mouth properly, long fangs looming down. 

“I like your teeth,” Damen said, admiringly.

“They’d damage you,” Laurent said, talking without retracting them. 

Damen sighed and pulled him down for a kiss which Laurent barely had time to retract his fangs for. Damen relished in the warmth of him, spreading his hands into the black scales that spread down Laurent’s spine. 

Laurent’s claws left blue chicken-scratches across Damen’s chest and he groaned unhappily, breaking the kiss. “You are prickly, my love,” Damen said. 

Laurent grinned, fangs peaking over lips. 

The problem with him and Damen was that their bodies were designed to be at war with each other. Being together was an exercise in self-restraint, of continually watching themselves and keeping their weapons in check. 

Damen’s cold hands slipped down Laurent’s spine to the base of his tail—which he massaged. 

Laurent groaned and bucked slightly. His tail curled at the attention. 

“This always seems unfair,” Laurent murmured, breathlessly. Sweat plastered his hair to his head, revealing pointed ears. 

“I’m an empath,” Damen said, cheeks flushed, “I feel what you feel.” 

Laurent breathed heavily, smoke pouring from his chest. He pushed his hand between Damen’s legs and felt nothing but cool emptiness, a mount of smooth skin. He was like a ken doll. 

“It’s to prevent me from committing Lust,” Damen said, changing his position slightly. 

“How’s that working out for you?” Laurent breathed. 

Damen grinned. He slipped his other hand lower, between Laurent’s legs, where his scales were scaldingly hot. The cold touch felt like ice pressed gently into the most sensitive part of him. Damen rubbed his fingers into the small, blistering scales, rubbing them until they shifted, revealing hot, trembling skin. 

Laurent shivered, hips shifting to open his legs wider, pushing down on Damen’s hands. Damen worked his fingers into him, moving gently but firmly. His attentions were relentless. 

They had known each other seven hundred years—six hundred as lovers—and Damen could still undo him so easily, like pulling a thread. 

Laurent’s whole body shuddered. Hips hips lowered, muscles tensing. He bit his lip, hard, and came. 

Damen continued working him until he was finished and Laurent’s thighs were shivering. Damen caught his hips and lowered them back onto the bed, taking all of his weight easily. Laurent rested against him, worn out. 

“Was that good?” Damen asked. His eyes glowed slightly, bright and clear like a winter sun. 

“You’re the empath,” Laurent said, tiredly. “You know how good it was.” 

Damen hummed happily. 

“Doesn’t this count as Lust?” Laurent prodded. They didn’t tend to talk about such contentious issues, but it had bothered Laurent for a long time. “Are you going to lose your standing because of this?” 

“It would have happened by now,” Damen said. 

Laurent watched him. The skin around his bright eyes was bruise-dark. 

“Don’t worry about me,” Damen said, running a comforting hand over Laurent’s spine. 

Laurent relented, resting his head on Damen’s cool chest, “I suppose you’re pretty incorruptible.” 

Damen carded a hand through Laurent’s damp hair, cooling fingers finding his uncomfortably hot neck and pressing his hand there. It was refreshing in a way that always made Laurent relaxed and boneless. 

Laurent rolled over, so his spine was pressed against Damen’s chest and closed his eyes. He drifted off. 

Damen pressed his face into Laurent’s damp neck. The demon was warm, every inch of him heated by the fire that burned in him. Damen’s own skin never warmed up, even when pressed with white-hot pokers. It was like Laurent carried the heat for both of them. 

Laurent shifted in his sleep, moving closer to him. 

Damen could push his empathic ability to watch his dreams, but he never did. Laurent already let down so many walls to allow him this close, he could never overstep the line. But when he was careful, he could skim the edge of Laurent’s consciousness, all that connected to his body. Angels couldn’t sleep, not like a demon or a human could, but he could feel what it was like when he touched Laurent. 

Damen closed his eyes and pretended to sleep. 

 

*

 

Sunlight filtered through the thin, flower-patterned curtains, spilling pale light across the room. Damen could hear the whole city from here, the rumbling of cars, the loud, rude talk, the bark of a dog. There was not a horse for miles. It was strange, how fast things changed down here. It was like watching a plant grow, blooming over and over, each flower vastly different and somehow still similar at the roots. 

Damen had not slept. But, when he felt Laurent’s consciousness return, he opened his eyes, propping himself up on an elbow. 

Laurent’s eyes opened. The blackness under his eyes had not eased much, but parts of him seemed rested. “Were you there all night?” 

Damen nodded. 

“Must have been dull,” Laurent said. 

“It was fine,” Damen said, “You sleep much better when I’m here, anyway.” 

“I regret telling you that,” Laurent’s eyes drifted shut. 

Laurent dozed off for a moment, breathing evenly. He shifted his spine and something hurt viciously, and Damen, still connected to his body, felt it too. He must have tensed or something, because Laurent’s eyes snapped back open. 

Laurent raised an eyebrow at him. 

“You’re hurt,” Damen said. 

Laurent rolled his eyes. “I’m always hurt.” 

“Let me see,” Damen said. 

“Your healing powers won’t work on me,” Laurent said, but relented sitting up. He bent forward, the scales along his spine shifting apart in little razor edges. 

Damen ran a finger down his spine, careful to avoid the edges, “Where is it?” 

“Lower and to the left,” Laurent said, “there must be a broken spike or something.” 

Damen found a patch of abnormal scales. They were oddly small, the pale grey skin showing through. He picked at them very carefully, looking around to find broken skin.

“It was right after I saw you last time,” Laurent said, “Something must have been lodged in there and broken through the scales.”

Damen lifted one up—and his eyes went wide. 

“It’s a pain,” Laurent said, “This sort of stuff is only supposed to happen after a battle. This just happened randomly. Karma, I suppose.” 

Damen sat very still. 

Laurent frowned. “You’ve gone quiet.” 

“I—...” Damen’s throat went dry. His fingers started to shake, just slightly. 

Laurent turned his head, “What’s wrong? Damen?” 

Damen met his eyes. 

Laurent had never seen him afraid. Worried, yes, cautious, yes, surprised, all the time. But Damen had never looked afraid, not really. Not until now. 

Damen’s gaze dropped to his dark fingers. 

Spread out over his hand, slightly crushed but vibrant against him, sprouting from Laurent’s dark back by a single cord deep in the skin—

—was a single, pure white feather.


End file.
